Journal Writings

I'll be adding these from my personal journals from time to time. I'll most likely stay with the "not-so-personal" material to preserve my own privacy. Stories seem to start from journal musings. If you like, you can read a current diary

Feburary 17, 1997

I'm sitting in my car in front of the Bluebird. It's 8:32pm on a Monday nite, and the bar doesn't open until 9pm. The only reason I'm here is becasue I was in Bloomington, visiting April and I wanted to stay and "do something fun". The radio claimed this show was free. In the friendly 10-minute chat with the bartender/manager, Dave, I discovered this isn't true, it's a $3 cover to see those Swingrays play. According to the bartender, who engaged me immediately in conversation the minute I walked in the the stark vacant bar, this band is a regular Monday-night ritual, a sort of swing/rockabilly tradition where even the punk rock chicks dress to the nines in elegant fashion. I've already met the leader of this band, a middle-aged elvis complete with pompadour, hawaiian shirt and a blue tatoo of an old-style guitar on his right forearm. HIs two bandmates looked more than a decade younger and were already slicked into their tuxes and smoking cigarettes. They call it "Cigartinis" nite, with cigar smokin' and all martinis only $2.50 each. The basic martini being not enough for this expressive generation, there are a 20 varieties of martinis available: the blue devil, the cosmopolitan and the Bob Marley to name a few. The basic martini consists of vodka, vermouth and an olive. Too bad "olive" does not begin with a "v". Vermouth seems to be the red-haired step-child for this generation of drinks, as it is the first thing replaced in any combination.

September 15, 1997

There's a guy at Faire named Kevin who gives us roses. He walks around with 5 or 6 dozen roses and hands them out to pretty women and sometimes men. He'll purr in you ear when you hug him and his smile of joy is just like the Cheshire Cat . . . wide, toothy, making his whole face flat and cat-like. He's got long sandy (frizzy) hair and always wears a black tank top. The girls at my booth have started tying them up in the fringe that hangs all around the top edge - we've got a side and a half filled up. Yesterday we pointed this out to him and he purred and bestowed a total of 7 roses on us. All were hung up, save one I broke off to adorn my cleavage.

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